"Hey! I'm talking to you!" The Alliance soldier who had asked the question refused to give up. He caught up and spoke again, much louder this time, drawing everyone's attention.
Yet the Wolf Fang Regiment member he had questioned still acted as if he had heard nothing. He stared straight ahead and followed the formation onward, every raised foot and step landing with the precision of a ruler.
At that point, everyone noticed that it was not just the Wolf Fang member being questioned. Every Wolf Fang Regiment regular currently marching wore the exact same expression.
It was not that they could not hear, nor were they deliberately ignoring anyone. Clearly, the Wolf Fang Regiment members were operating under the strictest discipline, and no one was allowed to violate it!
Without sorrow, joy, desire, or thought, dressed in neat black regiment uniforms, the entire force of three thousand regulars resembled a black tide flowing into the camp from outside.
The sight left everyone present stunned. Looking at the sense of discipline unconsciously displayed by that black tide as it marched, as well as its iron-blooded resolve to place honor above all else, then comparing it to the noisy Alliance troops gathered here, the contrast was so sharp it gave people much to think about.
The questioner was incomparably embarrassed. The shame born from such an enormous contrast caused a faint trace of anger to emerge on his face.
The first group of returning Feather Slayer Squad members had marched without looking sideways. The second Shooting Team had been utterly solemn. But even this third and rather large contingent of Wolf Fang regulars was so serious, their poker faces fixed forward and unmoved by any disturbance, that a huge number of Alliance troops immediately became displeased.
"What are they putting on